AN: Winding down on the story now, and the next chapter will be the last. Thank you for following along so far. :)

January 5th, 1999

NOT HAPPY: GAY.

Potter attacked in Muggle London

Harry sat at his desk in the early morning, jar of salve that Snape had dropped off late the night before to his right, and a hot cup of coffee to his left. The winter morning sun was almost warm through the window, and it made the friendly little block of red oak in front of him even nicer to hold.

His arm felt like his muscles had been seizing all night, and he had it stuck to his chest with a spell, as if it were in a sling. The picture of him that they'd used was a recent one of him in the Alley, giving a side glance to something off camera. He was surprised that they'd picked up the Malfoy and Nott story so quickly, and that they'd waited a few days before writing about his queerness. The name on the article was not Rita Skeeter's, but instead another journalist, and Harry begruginly gave a nod to the creativity of the headline.

Harry picked up his mug and had another sip.

He was due at Ollivander's in a few hours, and he felt like he was tired of the paper and tired of the attention. Ollivander had been fairly unbothered by Harry's coming out, but threats and attacks were on a different level of concern, Harry thought. Ollivander had had a terrible experience during the war, and Harry worried that he'd not want to continue with the work partnership if Harry was going to be a target for violence.

There'd been no owl though, which Harry took for a good sign, and he'd find out when he went to the shop in any event.

He picked up the block of red oak and held it up to the sunlight. It was an open grain; the daggers of darker red looking like waves breaking on the wood. He didn't know if Nott had intended to hit him in the arm with cruciatus, to cause him to lose the use of his dominant arm just before starting a job that required the use of said limb. But Harry had learned some carving spells along the way, and had also practiced with his left hand. He wasn't as good as with his right, but for the beginnings of a carve, it was good enough.

Harry stuck the red oak in his work desk vise, and picked up his chisel to start shaving the piece.

…

The sign was small, about the size of an A4 sized notebook, and was placed in the bottom of Ollivander's shop window. H. Potter, Wand Repairs. Harry was inordinately proud of it, as it was the first thing he'd established for himself that was unrelated to being the Boy Who Lived.

Harry admired it from the window for a few seconds, nodding at an old schoolmate who waved at him from a few shops down. He'd had a leisurely two-minute stroll to work, noting with satisfaction that in the window of Flourish and Blotts was Den Creevey's magazine. Front and centre of the display, Harry's serious picture sitting high above the Prophet and Quibbler on smaller stands below.

Harry took a breath and entered the shop. Though it didn't open for another half an hour, Ollivander was already at his desk, reading the Prophet with a steaming cup of tea beside him.

"Potter, the Boy Who Defeated You Know Who, single-handedly defended himself and a muggle friend during a surprise attack in muggle London," Ollivander read, before folding the paper down and looking up at Harry. "Undefeatable, once again."

Harry slowly unwrapped his scarf, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Two hands, technically. The cruciatus made it rather difficult to aim with my right."

Ollivander had furry, wild eyebrows and one arched comically in his disbelief of Harry's statement.

"Have you, in fact, kept the Elder wand? I wonder. Wandmakers aren't known for using better judgement in the presence of such powerful and tempting wands."

Harry hung his coat up on the hook in the far corner, hiding his pleased smile that Ollivander considered him to be a fellow wandmaker already.

"I don't have it, Garrick," Harry said, turning back around. "It's a dangerous wand that only brings destruction."

"Hmm, for the best, for the best," Ollivander said. Harry suspected that Ollivander didn't quite believe him.

"When you sold it, did you know that Voldemort's wand would be so destructive?" Harry asked, blatantly changing the subject. "It was yew, wasn't it?"

He'd set his desk up to the far side of Ollivander's front reception area for the moment, but they'd both agreed to re-visit the location depending upon how busy Harry would get.

He plunked himself down at his desk, and withdrew the red oak he'd been working on earlier.

"Yes," Ollivander said, and he couldn't help going over all the details. "An unusual and sometimes notorious wand match, a dueller's wand with fearsome power. A rare wood, paired with a rare core."

"Which did terrible but great things," Harry parroted, remembering his first meeting with Ollivander all those years ago.

"The wand also had the potential to do very good things," Ollivander pointed out. "Yew is often found just as much amongst the heroic as it is with the malicious."

"Which raises a question," Harry said, sitting up as he got into the discussion properly. "Does the wand know, as it is choosing the wizard, that it will become one of the most powerful and evil wands?"

"One could argue that the wand has no concept of dark or light magic," Ollivander said.

"Yes, it does," Harry bluntly said. "Several wood types won't work well with dark spells, and unicorn hair cores don't handle it well either."

Ollivander smiled, and it was a genuine one. He picked up his cup and took a sip.

"There is more tea in the back of the shop," he said. "The wands will know, yes, but they don't have a concept of context. Some spells are even classified as dark magic, but have their uses that could be considered forgivable under the right circumstances."

Harry's right arm had started to pulse with pain shortly after he'd left his flat, and he flexed his fingers to try to work it out.

"I would say that the cruciatus curse is not one of those."

The doorbell jingled as a delivery wizard entered with what looked like a large crate of different types of wood. Harry stood back up as Ollivander went to deal with it, and wandered to the back to find the tea.

…

Harry spent the morning making sketches of wand designs in his notebook, and working on his chart of wood and characteristic matches. He'd noted that Ollivander had racks of books and paperwork in the back of the shop of his own investigations and findings. He'd not made them a secret, but Harry wanted his own collection that he had curated and researched himself.

"Have you worked with wenge wood before, Potter?" Ollivander said, counting the stacks of almost black wood at his desk. "Harry."

"No," Harry said. "It didn't come up in my readings. What's it like?"

"Splintery," Ollivander said. "It is a very dense wood that is used for musical instruments, and thus is a wandwood that tends to find itself at home with creative an artistic types. "

"Works best with unicorn hair, I imagine?" Harry asked.

"Yes, though I have also had luck pairing it with phoenix feathers."

The door clanged open and a harried looking father with twin boys entered, bringing in a blustery of January wind.

"Once again?" Ollivander asked, a small smile on his face. The twins looked to be around four years old, and had big goofy grins.

"Yes, unfortunately," the man answered. He held up a wand that had clearly been snapped in half, and was wrapped together with tape.

…

The shop was open from eleven until six, and Harry found himself making a small schedule in the mid-afternoon lull. His original plan was to only be in the actual shop two or three times a week, dependant on how busy he was with orders. He had one to work on, and his red oak project, and an old Hufflepuff schoolmate had stopped in to ask about what Harry could do about her wand. She was missing a few fingers on her wand hand, and her skin looked like it had been burnt terribly by something, but she was fairly chipper and welcomed him back to the magical world.

Harry was in a bit of a subdued mood when she'd left, as though she was happy and looking forward to him working on her wand, Harry felt guilty that she'd been at the Battle and sustained those injuries in the first place, in the name of fighting with him and for Dumbledore's Army. He'd wrestled with that a lot over the last few months, about how being the Chosen One and the one prophesised to end the war didn't mean that it was only him that faced the danger. And that it was nothing he could have controlled.

"Arthur Weasley," Ollivander said, causing Harry to look up from his unfocused stare at his desk.

Arthur was standing in the doorway, lunch bag and two books held under his arm as he peeked in the shop and waved at Harry.

"Hello Garrick," Arthur cheerily said, stepping in. "Busy day for you?"

"Will be shortly, the new term starts back next week," Ollivander said. "Children always want to update hand me down wands with their Christmas money."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at that, as it was something he'd never considered before. Harry hadn't either, but it made sense once he thought about it.

"How is your wand these days? Rowan, wasn't it? Rowan and dragon heartstring, 14 inches, supple?"

"Yes indeed," Arthur said, rocking on his feet a little. "Wand's perfectly fine, served me quite well over the last year of course. Very reassuring."

He stepped out of the door way and moved toward Harry, as a family came into the shop with a young boy that looked to be in his first or second year of Hogwarts. He was holding a wand in particularly rough shape, and Harry wondered if this was a visit for a new wand, to replace the old one. September, though months out from the final battle, had still been feeling the pinch of supply issues from the war and Ollivander's absence. Some new students had had to make do with second hand wands.

"How's it, Harry?" Arthur said, putting his books carefully down on the corner of Harry's desk. "Good first day?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said. "I've got a few customers now, actually."

He showed his drawings to Arthur, who studied them seriously and inquired about the wood types and their interactions. Harry gave a short summary, afraid to go too into it if Arthur didn't particularly care that much, but he was pleased to see that Arthur was showing the same sort of interest that he did when Harry told him about muggle things.

"Quite interesting!" Arthur finally said, nodding. "It's nice as well to have someone take interest in a form of magic that isn't so volatile."

Harry gave a small smile.

"How is Charlie?"

"Well," Arthur said, with consideration. "I had been referring to Fred and George, but Charlie didn't choose a quiet life either."

"I guess if he's happy, that's okay."

"Yes, and he's quite good at what he does," Arthur said. He shifted on his feet, as if he was uncomfortable with both the standing and the conversation. "Molly has sent him some literature."

Harry picked up his drawings and tapped the paper together on the desk to keep them tidy.

"Some literature? On what?"

"Homosexuality," Arthur said, and Harry coughed at the suddenness and outspokenness of the word. The family that were dealing with Ollivander glanced their way.

"It will be up to him if he reads it or not, of course, but we've always asked that our children take educated stances on such issues, instead of ignorant ones."

"Wow," Harry said. "That's, I don't expect…"

"Speaking of Molly," Arthur said, interrupting Harry so he wouldn't have to figure out the rest of his sentence. "She's sent these along for you. For your afternoon tea break."

He opened his lunch bag and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle, that was tied with a red and gold thread.

"And as mine is over, I must head back to the Ministry."

"Oh. Well, thanks for stopping in, Arthur," Harry said, standing up. He didn't know whether to see him to the door, or if it would be awkward given that it was a shop instead of a house. He decided to do it anyway, and Arthur clapped him on his left bicep.

"You've got a good set up," Arthur said. "I think you'll do well, Harry."

Arthur gave him a friendly wave as he headed out into the Alley and toward the Leaky.

Harry went back in to check out the bundle and untied it to find some homemade shortbread biscuits and a small note.

Have a wonderful first day, Harry dear! We wish you success with your new business!

Harry folded it carefully and stuck it in his wallet, blinking a few times to clear the blurriness from his eyes. He wondered if they'd done the same for Fred and George, on the opening of their shop two years before. Probably, Harry thought. The Weasleys were very proud of their children and their accomplishments, and though he wasn't really theirs, they'd treated him similarly. He knew it wasn't really possible, but that thought made the biscuits taste even better than Harry could have imagined.

…

Harry easily did the button on his jeans up, checking himself out in the mirror as he did so. He didn't really have plans for the evening, but it was nice to take a hot shower and maybe sit on the couch with some telly. His arm was doing much better than it had been on Sunday, which wasn't really surprising to Harry. Last year they'd not really had any idea what the curse was, nor did they have access to all the ingredients needed to create medicine. Clearly Snape had been working on it since the end of the war though, as Harry found his new salves much more efficient.

Harry checked out the tree branching scarring on his arm, reddened again due to the cruciatus. It mixed with the very faint line from where Pettigrew had cut him to bring Voldemort back to life. It wasn't pretty, and the first time they'd gotten naked, Luke had almost called it quits right then and there.

Remembering how Malfoy had made such a big deal out of Buckbeak's scratch at school, Harry scoffed at the mirror. And he'd had the fucking nerve to attack Harry again. Malfoy had always been full of bluff and bluster as a student, toeing the line of causing harm to people and then running back to whinge at the professors when someone fought back.

The doorbell rang before Harry could properly sink into a foul mood. Though it wasn't a secret that he lived in the Alley, Harry had kept his actual flat and address secret, so he was curious to who was there.

"Severus," Harry said, opening the door. Snape was dressed quite sharply Harry thought, with his black modern slacks, new overcoat, and mist green knit scarf. His hair had a healthy shine to it, looking brushed and…

"Did you get a haircut?" Harry blurted out.

"Are you going to stand in the doorway all evening?" Snape said, eyebrow raised.

"Er no," Harry said, stepping back. "Did we have plans?"

"Not exactly," Snape said, and his cheeks were slightly tinged. He did not move from his spot. "But should you have any interest in dinner…"

"Yes. Yes, I do," Harry immediately said. He held up his wand to summon his wallet, and in his eagerness to go, nearly forgot to put socks and shoes on.

…

"This is what I don't understand," Snape said, pointing his fork at Harry. It was twenty minutes later and Snape had apparated them to an Italian restaurant in muggle London. "Dumbledore sent you after both the Hallows and the horcruxes."

"Yes," Harry said, sitting back and sipping his wine. It tasted incredibly dry to him, but he wanted to try it. Snape had ordered a bottle for them to share, and Harry had accepted as if he'd been drinking wine for years.

"And requested that I kill him, to ensure that I was the master of the Elder wand."

"Yes," Harry said. "Which is why Voldemort tried to kill you."

Snape looked annoyed, and Harry figured he was still peeved at the fact that Dumbledore had set him up as a target.

"Why both?" Snape asked. His eyes were bright, animated, and so much different than the panicked blurriness that Harry had seen as he thought Snape was dying. "Which one kept you alive?"

"There were several things that kept me alive that night. Supernatural, even in the magical world," Harry continued. He swirled more pasta around his fork and took a bite. It had begun to snow outside, and Harry thought it made the room feel rather romantic. Had they not been talking about death, he likely would have appreciated it more.

"The Elder wand refused to kill its own master. Had Voldemort used any other wand, it may have ended differently. But he believed that he had the most powerful wand, and its allegiance was actually with me."

Snape swallowed his pasta and poured more wine into both of their glasses.

"What were the other things?" he asked. "There is surprisingly little information available, as most experiences that have been recorded were third-party, and not privy to these specific details."

"Partially by design," Harry admitted. "I've never shared the full details, as I don't want the public to think I'm immortal, nor come after me for the Elder wand."

"Do you still have it?" Snape asked, with a slightly feigned interest that didn't fool Harry.

"No," Harry said. "And that wasn't his first attempt. Shortly after he thought he killed you, I went to the forest."

"After you saw my memories," Snape said, sitting back in his seat.

"Yes," Harry said. "Like we'd talked about in the bothy, not all of it was a surprise. The reason you turned against Voldemort, however…"

Snape looked distinctly uncomfortable at that, as if he'd forgotten that he'd shared that with Harry. Harry knew better though, knew that Snape had not forgotten and had instead chosen to never speak of it again.

"Anyway. I went to the forest and sacrificed myself. I didn't fight, I didn't defend, and I let him try to kill me."

"I would have thought you'd have more self-preservation," Snape said. "Certainly, you were angry enough with Dumbledore at points to not follow his every word."

"No but you see, he was right," Harry said, sitting up animatedly. "And believe me, it angered me greatly that he was, because I had a lot of dark nights last year that I hated him, hated this war, hated being the one that was marked. Hated my mother's sacrifice, that kept me alive all these years. But it worked again."

"Petunia was there to keep it?" Snape said, in a voice drier than the wine. Harry laughed.

"No. It happened when he brought himself back to life, and used my blood. His use of my blood kept that protection alive. So as long as he was alive, it still existed."

"Potter that is horseshit," Snape said, after a moment's consideration. "You are saying that for the entirety of last year, after we moved you from Privet Drive, you still had the protection?"

"It would seem," Harry said. "Listen, I had no idea either. And you killed the only man who did. But any of the Death Eaters still could have done the job."

Snape rolled his eyes at this and sipped his wine as Harry took another bite of pasta.

"Because I let it happen in the forest, without defense – the wand played absolutely no part. And that protection was conflicted, or something. Voldemort kept it alive, but its very job was to protect me from him. So, what did it allow the killing curse to do? Kill the only part of me that wasn't me. The horcrux."

Harry snatched a small slice of garlic bread in satisfaction. The night of the battle had been a blur of action and danger and fear, and in the background bits of information and intuition slotting together into place. It had taken Harry a while after to remember it all, and think through what it had all meant. How he'd won.

"It was perfect timing," Harry said. "Everything had to be. The horcrux first, then the wand."

Snape looked like he was considering everything that Harry had just said, so Harry took the time to look around the room. They'd gone to a place on Firth street, that was clearly in a gay friendly area as Harry noted that they weren't the only male couple on a date. It was a cosy restaurant with dark spaces and alcoves and privacy.

"How did you survive? I notice that's also not been published," Harry finally said.

"I didn't realise you received the Prophet in the muggle world," Snape replied, neatly spearing some of his dinner.

Harry coughed.

"I looked you up specifically. Go on, what was your stopper in death?"

"Antivenin. And a puncture proof collar. Unlike others, I did not have the assistance of the greatest wizard to plan my survival, and relied on more primary means."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"And what was your plan, by the way, for getting your memories to me? Or I suppose, your message from Dumbledore? You told me most in the bothy last year, but that was a meeting of chance more than any planned event."

Snape twisted his head to the side in consideration.

"You didn't have one!" Harry blurted. "You had no plan for how to find me that night and tell me the rest?"

"It didn't turn out to be an issue," Snape said, and it looked like he was trying to hide a small smile as he drank his wine.

"Yeah luckily!" Harry scoffed. "As we literally just talked about, it was rather important that I let him kill me first without fighting back."

"I would have found a way," Snape said, not giving any further details. "How is your wand business coming along?"

It was a very obvious change of subject, and Harry twisted his head up with a smirk as he held his wine glass.

"Well so far. Only a few people have come by, and one was just to see the Boy who Lived."

"And the others?" Snape asked.

"Someone who I suspect is a werewolf," Harry said, sipping his wine. "Was very quiet when he came in, had scars like Lupin and Bill Weasley did. Said his wand didn't work that well for him, but only sometimes."

"At certain times of the month, I imagine," Snape murmured.

"Yes," Harry said. "His original wand is elm and I'm thinking of adding some hawthorn to it, as that's best suited for people with conflicting natures or going through change. Elm is a very sophisticated wand wood with clean and elegant magic, and if he is a werewolf, I could see how it no longer fully fits him."

Snape nodded, picking up a piece of bread and dipping it into olive oil. Harry took a second to realise where they were. He was sitting in a nice restaurant with Severus Snape, on a date, eating fantastic pasta and having an actual conversation on wand woods and his job. There was no derision, and Snape seemed legitimately interested in his work. Harry felt a flush on his face, of contentment and happiness.

"What about you?" Harry asked, trying to sound like he hadn't just had a realisation that he finally felt like he'd made it as an adult. "Are you going to continue teaching?"

"No," Snape said, wiping his mouth in a way that Harry found to be a turn on. "My reactions are no longer quick enough for a classroom full of eager and chaotic children around dangerous ingredients."

"Reactions or nerves?" Harry asked, with a sly smile.

"Well," Snape said. "The nerves are also an issue."

He didn't look at his arm but the message was clear and Harry felt like a bit of a twat for his choice of words. Especially given that it was the same reason he had for not going to the aurors.

"Does that mean you'll have to move out of Hogwarts?"

"The castle isn't my year-round residence," Snape said, as a waiter came by to refill their waters. The waiter didn't blink an eye at the words, and Harry thought that curious.

"You have a house?" Harry asked. "Where do you live?"

"At the moment, in the very same house that I grew up in," Snape said, finishing his wine. "Which will be going up for sale, shortly."

"Really? Will you be coming to London?"

"I am considering it," Snape said, sitting back in his chair and pushing his plate forward. The waiter returned quickly to collect their plates. "But not Diagon Alley. Too many owls and broomsticks flying about."

The waiter left, and Harry furrowed his brows.

"Do you know anyone here? We didn't use a spell on the table to disguise what we say…"

"Are you under the mistaken impression that I have socialised in the last twenty years?"

"I did see you at the parade," Harry smirked.

"As a bystander," Snape corrected with rolled eyes. "This is the first date I have had in quite some time."

Harry felt full and warm, and completely at ease with the conversation.

"We're sort of doing this backwards," he said. "Sex first, and then dating."

"You'll be very disappointed to know that sex is not on the table tonight."

"Well, no," Harry said. "We've already done that."

"Potter," Snape warned, and Harry laughed.

"No, that's fine. I can wait."

Snape gave him a slightly amused look, and finished his wine.

"What exactly do you want with this experiment?"

"This isn't an experiment," Harry immediately corrected. "This is dating. My experience of that in the muggle world was going to protests, and the cinema, and fancy dinners out and the club. I wouldn't mind the dinners and the cinema again, but I also liked the bothy. The quiet, the reading, the talking, that sort of thing. We go to work, come home, eat and argue. And maybe watch a film."

He finished the sentence with a firm nod. He'd thought often about what he wanted out of dating, out of a partner. He'd had a lot of fun with Luke in his break in the muggle world, but it had been an unrealistic relationship of fancy outings, events and protests, and flashy queer space-only activities. Fun in small spurts, but not something Harry wanted for the rest of his life. He knew who he was, but his gayness didn't have to be his whole identity.

"No longer a fan of the limelight?" Snape asked. A dessert menu was offered to them in a pass by, and both shook their heads.

"I never really was," Harry admitted. "Never much had a choice, and most of it wasn't positive."

"Hmm," Snape said, nodding. His hair fell forward a little and he reached up to hook it back over his ear. It was something that Harry had never seen him do as a professor, but he'd done it in the bothy all the time. It was an intimate familiarity, such a small and silly one, that made Harry smile.

"I shall need to spend more time getting to know this side of Harry Potter, then," Snape said, putting his hand up to signal for the cheque.